To Live and Die in Hogsmeade
by Hippogriff Tannen
Summary: Fresh out of Azkaban and hunted by an old colleague, career criminal Ellis Casper reluctantly agrees to help a pair of small-time con men pull off one last score. Explores the criminal underworld of the Harry Potter universe.


"It's cold," Ellis growled, placing the cup of tea between himself and the doctor.

"Figure you'd be used to that by now," Dr. Quarles replied behind thick-rimmed glasses.

Ellis took a moment to size up his enemy. Dr. Quarles was an unassuming fellow with a career Ministry Man look. His gray suit was cheap, his canary yellow tie was casual Friday. Ellis had landed himself in Azkaban trying to avoid a life like that. He figured he could take Quarles in his prime, but he'd lost a good twenty pounds in prison. Best to just sit and play this out.

"If I were used to anything in this place, I'd be insane." Ellis wiped the tea from his mustache and took his seat. The two men were separated by a flimsy card table, but a barrier, invisible to the human eye, ensured the doctor's safety. Ellis briefly considered testing his mettle by flinging the tea across the table, but he backed away from that ledge about as quickly as he stepped up to it.

"You refuse to normalize Azkaban," Dr. Quarles said. "You're not like the other people in here. You're just a normal guy in an abnormal place. Does that comfort you?"

Ellis shrugged, sighed, and ran a hand through his thinning hair. "That's a loaded question, doc."

"In what way?"

"You get me to say I'm a normal guy, then you say, 'Oh, but what about all the people you hurt with your crimes.' I never took nothing that wasn't insured. I do a service. I steal some rich asshole's shit, he gets the insurance. Sometimes I sell it back, but who cares? Rich Asshole's still rich. I'm your regular every day Robin Hood."

"Robin Hood stole from the rich to give to the poor," Dr. Quarles noted.

"Well," Ellis shrugged. "I'm a Robin Hood who makes money."

Dr. Quarles was fumbling with his briefcase now, unrolling a piece of parchment, a bottle of ink, and an old pen.

"You're gonna write about me?" Ellis grunted as the doctor filled the pen.

"It's my job," Dr. Quarles mumbled, scribbling on the parchment now. Ellis would lean over the table to read Quarles' notes, but didn't want to risk bonking his head on the invisible wall.

When Dr. Quarles looked up from his notes he said, "Don't you think that's awfully anti-social behavior for a Hufflepuff?"

"Stealing shit? What, you think just because I's a Hufflepuff I can't steal shit?"

"Well," Dr. Quarles adjusted the glasses on his nose. "There are certain personalities, attitudes, behaviors that I associate with certain houses, yes."

Ellis scratched his beard then replied thoughtfully, "The sorting hat did want to put me in Slytherin."

"Really?" Quarles leaned away from his note, a glint of fascination in his eyes.

"If that's what you want to hear," Ellis smiled. "I'll bet you were a Hufflepuff. I'll bet you hate it, don't you? Ellis Casper, stinkin' up old Helga's name."

Dr. Quarles continued to scribble. Ellis hated that.

"I knew this kid in school. He was a Slytherin. Nice fella. Couldn't stand him, but he was a good guy. Good in that sort of way, you know? Like, you know when you want to hate someone but they're just too good to hate? Like that. The point is, he was a Slytherin so."

"You're saying Slytherins have the capacity to be good people," Dr. Quarles finished.

Ellis nodded along as he said, "And Hufflepuffs can be real shits."

"Tell me about your childhood, Ellis."

"Isn't it all in there?" Ellis nodded to the file lying open nest to Quarles' notes.

"I can learn almost everything about you from this," he replied. "Your age, height, eye color, arrest record. But I can't get context. Tell me about your childhood, Ellis."

"Born and raised in Liverpool," Ellis sighed. "Dad was drove a rubbish truck, mum worked at a daycare. She was the cook. They were Muggles. Mum thought my Hogwarts letter was some kinda mail scam. Y'know, like, 'I'm a Haitian prince and my life sucks so give me your savings?' A lot of letters came before she realized that it was the real deal."

"Your father died in '98," Dr. Quarles noted.

Ellis shifted in his seat. "Sure."

"He was killed in the war?"

"Cancer. Don't remember him."

"It was just your mother and you then?"

Ellis' eyes wandered to his boots planted on the floor. "Mum dated this guy for years, but they never got married."

"Did it bother you? That they never married."

"Not really. Jack wasn't exactly a father figure."

Dr. Quarles flicked through the pages of Ellis' file. "Arrested in '09," he confirmed.

"Lousy thief," Ellis snorted. "Never was any good without me."

"He trained you?"

"If by trained you mean stuffin' Snickers in my pockets, sure. Are you trying to get me to say something? Find out why I am the way I am? Maybe I just am, you know?"

"Okay," Dr. Quarles nodded. "Let's talk about the Canadian Tuxedo."

Ellis laughed. "I started stealing from Muggles because, really, what's easier than taking shit from Muggles? It's like, easy mode, y'know? They never have a clue what's goin' on. This one time," he stifled a laugh. "I spent two weeks working this stately home. I was being extra careful on a count of I knew the Ministry was on to me. So instead of doing my usual thing, I start workin' outside the box. Floating objects, writing on the mirrors, spooky whispers. I got that house so worked up that the people abandoned it and I just walked in and cleaned it out."

"How inventive," Dr. Quarles said coldly.

"Anyway, my first big job—this bank, right? In Sheffield. Well, I didn't really think much of it, but I wore this denim outfit. Blue-jean jacket, blue-jean trousers. The rest was all pretty standard heist gear. You know, balaclava, boots, gloves, aviators. I mean, I looked fuckin' mean, man. I took the place with a note, that was it. Got in, got out, was halfway across the country before anyone knew they were bein' robbed. Next thing I know, I'm all over BBC. They've got this blurry security video of me walkin' out of the bank with my bag, and they're callin' me 'The Canadian Tuxedo,' you know, cause of all the denim?"

"Did that bother you?"

"Well it's not the coolest nickname, is it? But it worked. Everyone was lookin' for some kinda cowboy, and I'd go around dressed totally different. And the name. People hear 'Canadian Tuxedo' and they get that stuck in their head. Suddenly all of Britain's on the lookout for a Canadian rough rider."

"It never fooled the Ministry though, did it?"

Ellis waved his hand. "They saw right through it. and I guess they take these kinds of crimes seriously. Using magic in the presence of Muggles like that. I was on the Department's watchlist from day one. I went from nobody to celebrity like that," Ellis snapped his fingers.

"You sound proud of it."

"What if I am? It's kind of cool ain't it?"

"Why did you steal from Muggles, Ellis?"

"Why not? I'm half a Muggle too, right? After school I spent a couple years as a fry cook at this Muggle place. It sucked. I didn't feel very magical. I had to get out of there. Muggle money or wizard money, it's all money to me."

Dr. Quarles nodded, "But you wanted the Galleons. You wanted to get ahead in thid world."

Ellis nodded, "Yeah, I guess. The Muggle heists, they were like trial runs. I moved up in the world, started stealing from rich wizards who could afford to lose things. I had my own crew. People I could trust. I never did a job with more than three or four people, and I never hurt anyone."

"Until the last job," Dr. Quarles added.

"Yeah," Ellis sighed. "Until the last job."

"Tell me about it."

"Well," Ellis hesitated, taking a drink of his tea. "We were gonna rob this fundraiser. Some black tie thing to support juvenile lycanthropy. I got this buddy, Carroll. He's in a real bad way and he needs someone to pick him up before he really loses himself, you dig? Carroll's sloppy, but he's a good thief. So I let him in on the score. We go in dressed as guests."

Ellis paused for Dr. Quarles who was furiously scribbling on his parchment.

"The donation box is this little thing, but it's enchanted, so I know I got the score of a lifetime under my jacket. I'm getting pretty excited because everything's going my way, we're almost out when Carroll loses his cool and before I know it, curses are flyin' everywhere. So I make a break for it. And when I get back to the safehouse, Carroll's there looking all stupid in his tux, and he's got this lady that he grabbed at the party all magically bound up and shit.

"I have a rule: never take a hostage. And here I am staring into the eyes of some poor reporter from the Prophet. Carroll's going on about how he thinks she'll be useful, I'm trying to figure out what I'm supposed to do. I mean, I'm an exceptional thief, right? Stealing some rich asshole's shit, I can swing a jury on that, but now I'm a kidnapper."

"So you left Carroll?"

"Hell yeah! That reporter was his problem. I ain't no kidnapper."

"Then what happened?"

"Well, it turns out that this lady, this reporter, was in the middle of some exposé on self-defense for the average witch. She's not helpless at all, she's some fitness freak who overpowers Carroll, gets his wand and walks him straight into the Ministry. She gets all this publicity for being a badass, and good for her. I love a strong woman. But Carroll, it takes him _minutes_ to flip on me. They don't want him anyway, they want the Canadian Tuxedo. So, Carroll fingers me for the job _and_ the kidnapping. He gets time served, and what do I get? My best years in Azkaban. I got a daughter that I haven't seen since she was a baby, I got a girlfriend who won't talk to me because she thinks I kidnap women. So Carroll walks, and my life is over."

"Your friend hasn't been seen in five years," Dr. Quarles said.

"Yeah well, he got a chance to walk, y'know?"

"You really believe that you've done nothing wrong?"

"I know I've done things, doc. I broke the law, and I made that choice. I knew there were consequences to what I was doing but I was good at it. I was living up to my potential, instead of being some schmuck, filing paperwork for the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes."

"Many would think that it's not right to live up to your potential if it means harming others."

Ellis took a long breath. "The other day," he began slowly, thoughtfully. "I met a guy in here who ate a house elf. I swear to God, he ate a house elf. You believe that? I mean, he's bragging to me about it. He says it was a crime of passion, like he painted the Mona fuckin' Lisa. I know you think I'm this big time criminal, the mastermind behind the mastermind, but I'm just a guy, Doc."

"How old is your daughter?"

"About seven now."

"I have a daughter too," Dr. Quarles smiled. "She's nineteen."

"That must be hard,"

"Not as hard as you think."

Dr. Quarles looked down at his notes. "You've been very forthcoming, Ellis. Most prisoners don't talk about their crimes without saying 'allegedly.'"

"What's done's done," Ellis shrugged. "And you had your mind made up when you scheduled this meeting."

"What do you mean?"

"It was good press when the Ministry caught the Canadian Tuxedo, but I figure there's always a bigger fish, right? I must've seen this room twenty times since they sent me to Az, and it's always the same shit. Name names, and I can go free."

Dr. Quarles blinked. "Of course if you wanted to apply as a Ministry informant we could expedite your release."

Ellis laughed. "Y'know, there's torturers and rapists and murderers, but I'm the worst of 'em. See, I committed 'crimes detrimental to the secrecy of wizard society.' You can eat a house elf and get out on good behavior but threaten the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy and you're fucked."

"What are you getting at, Ellis?"

"Azkaban's the sturdiest facility in the world. Nothing that goes in can get out. And that runs both ways. I'm actually safer in here than I am out there if you think about it."

"Safer from what, Ellis?" Dr. Quarles raised his eyebrow in mock surprise.

"What do you think happened to Carroll? Ministry only started leaning on me when he disappeared. But I ain't a rat. Of course, throw me to the wolves and I'm bound to look for shelter. I could never show my face around Knockturn Alley again, I'd be labeled a snitch. I'd have no choice but to come back to the Ministry."

"That's very conspiratorial," Dr. Quarles said.

"And yet, I can't make any better sense of it."

Dr. Quarles had begun to chew his lip. "The Ministry will deliver its final decision by the week's end, Mr. Casper." He rose from his seat and pulled his wand from his breast pocket. Ellis flinched as the man pointed it in his direction, but he quickly relaxed when he saw the steam rising from his tea.

Dr. Quarles fumbled with the heavy steel door before using his wand to gently pull it open. Then, as he stepped out of the interrogation room, he turned around and added, "If it's any consolation, Mr. Casper, I'd keep you here."

Ellis smiled and tipped his cup, knowing that his freedom—and death—were imminent.


End file.
